


First Times

by QueenNeehola



Category: Karneval
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4200531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNeehola/pseuds/QueenNeehola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Akari-san,” Hirato says as he pulls away, and it’s <i>san</i> now because it can’t be <i>sensei</i>, not when they’re colleagues instead of student and teacher, not when the barrier keeping Hirato from saying these words has finally been lifted, “I love you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Times

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talonyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talonyth/gifts).



> happy birthday stephy!! i hope you like this, i'm so happy to be able to write more hirakari, especially since it's for you!! sorry it's kind of messy and all over the place lmao  
> i love you!!

The first time Hirato kisses Akari is on graduation day.

 

They’re both graduating—Hirato is moving on to join Circus, and Akari, the Research Tower permanently.  They’re alone at a secluded spot on campus per Hirato’s request, and the boy, clad in his black robes to oppose Akari’s white coat, would almost find the scene amusing were it not for the volume of his heartbeat clamouring over even his own thoughts.

 

Akari looks understandably unnerved by Hirato’s uncharacteristic silence, solemn expression, but it’s the moment he opens his mouth that Hirato moves, closes the space between them and grabs Akari’s sleeve.  His motives are betrayed as he stumbles, tugs Akari down farther than he intended, and the angle is wrong and the kiss is all the graceless fervour one would expect of a teenage boy despite Hirato’s determination to be composed, but it’s a kiss nonetheless, and all the puckering up against his pillow in the middle of the night and Tsukitachi walking in on him practising approaches in front of the mirror is suddenly, entirely _worth_ it.

 

“Akari-san,” Hirato says as he pulls away, and it’s _san_ now because it can’t be _sensei_ , not when they’re colleagues instead of student and teacher, not when the barrier keeping Hirato from saying these words has finally been lifted, “I love you.”

 

It takes Akari almost a full minute to construct a reply, by which time Hirato has mostly recovered, or at least certainly enough to appreciate the way the older man blossoms into scarlet, the way he hesitantly curls and uncurls his fingers by his side.

“I-Is that so,” Akari says.

 

Hirato notices the way Akari screws his eyes shut as he leans in to kiss him again, delights in the catch of breath in the other’s throat, and this time it goes exactly how Hirato pictured it.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time they sleep together, it’s the eve of Hirato’s promotion to captain of his own airship.

 

They’re both a little tipsy, a little undressed, a little red in the face and lips from messy kisses, and Hirato doesn’t really remember how he ended up on top of Akari, but it doesn’t really matter when the doctor ( _doctor_ ; the title always sounds so _good_ around Hirato’s tongue, especially when he breathes it against Akari’s lips) is shyly holding onto the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt and trying to pretend he isn’t as hard as they both know he is.

 

It doesn’t go to plan.  Hirato is too young, too impatient, excited, inexperienced; he comes too quickly, but he hides his embarrassment by sucking Akari’s cock until the doctor is shivering and whimpering his release down Hirato’s throat.

He supposes it’s an acquired taste.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Hirato wakes up late for a meeting, he’s in Akari’s bed, and his—his _lover_ , that’s the word now, is tangled about him and the sheets, pale skin chill and clammy with settled sweat in the cool of the morning.

He smiles, slides a hand over the curve of Akari’s behind to settle in the small of his back, presses a kiss to the older man’s forehead, and that’s all it takes to rouse Akari from his light sleep.  The doctor groans, blinks, stretches, unconsciously pressing forward into Hirato, and then hastily retreating again when he realises, face flushed.

“Good morning,” Hirato murmurs, leaning in for a kiss.

Akari obliges, because he usually does when they’re alone.  “You’re late, aren’t you.”

“No,” Hirato easily lies, and his hand is at Akari’s hip now, guiding the older man onto his back so Hirato can manoeuvre a leg in between Akari’s, lean up on one elbow and sprawl his other arm across the doctor’s chest.

“Liar.”

“Mm.”  Hirato noses into Akari’s neck, breathes against the skin, and Akari flinches, ticklish.  “I love you, Akari-san.”

There’s silence for a moment, then a sigh, a demand for Hirato to get off, get up, get dressed, and Hirato laughs.

 

He’s still waiting for the first time Akari will say it back, but until then, he has the rough fingertips that dig tiny bruises into his shoulders, the scent of citrus and clinical soap that follows his love, the lips that can frown and scold and kiss all at once, the side of the doctor that no one else gets to see; and he supposes that will have to do.


End file.
